


Lose Your Cool

by inlovewithnight



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabe likes to play chicken. Victoria plays to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lose Your Cool

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "dirty talk" prompt at kink_bingo.

Gabe slides into the backseat next to Victoria and leans in close, nuzzling at her neck just beneath her ear. "Do you want to play a game?"

"This is how horror movies start." She pushes at his forehead, tangling her fingers in his curls and tugging when he doesn't move back. "Sit up and behave."

He does, giving his best put-upon sigh, and watches her over the tops of his sunglasses. "So you don't want to play."

They're only about ten minutes off a plane, she hasn't showered yet today, and the other guys are all on a later flight, meaning she's the only one here to entertain Gabe at the moment. "What kind of a game?"

"Chicken." He slips one hand under her thigh on the sticky upholstery, curling his fingers into the hem of her skirt. "I keep pushing until you snap."

"So... the same as any other conversation with you, ever?"

"No. Duh." He wiggles his fingers, pressing them against the soft skin of her thigh like he's checking if she's in tune. "This time there's a prize."

"What's the prize?"

"I can't tell you." He gives her his wide-eyed innocent look, which is complete bullshit and they both know it. "It's a surprise. A surprise prize."

"You're an idiot." She stretches her legs out slowly and considers the tops of her shoes. Gabe plays chicken with the guys all the time. It's only ended in bloody noses or someone locking himself in the back lounge to sulk about... six or eight times. Ten at most. "What's the topic?"

He pinches lightly, right where her thigh meets her ass, just enough to make her jump. "Your pussy." 

"Gabe!" She twists to look at him and he moves his hand, pushing it between her thighs and running his fingers over the thin fabric of her underwear. He makes an unerring line right along the lips of her vulva and her heart jerks in her chest while her brain puts up six-foot neon numbers spelling out exactly how long it's been since she last got any from anything not battery-powered.

Actually, that last time was with Gabe, now that she's thinking about it. She desperately needs to meet new people. Meet them and get them naked. They can be other musicians, if she's too spoiled to give up fingers like this. But in principle. New people to have sex with.

"This actually gives you a hint about the prize," Gabe says, pressing his thumb against her clit. She draws her thighs together, keeping his wrist still, and he rubs a slow, deliberate circle. 

"You're terrible." She can feel heat going through her in concentric circles from his thumb. 

He presses his wrist harder against her, warm and solid between her thighs. "You're already getting wet."

She is, goddamn it, because she almost always is, her body always on an immediate hair-trigger to be ready to get off. Sometimes it's embarrassing and inconvenient. Sometimes it suits her. Right now it's both. "Don't say anything even vaguely related on the live mic. I mean it."

"Of course I won't." He rubs his thumb again and her hips jump. "I'm not a complete asshole."

He isn't, but she's learned not to be less than absolutely clear about the limits. "Promise me."

"I promise, Victoria. I pinky-swear." He curls another finger against her--probably _not_ his pinky, but how the hell does she know--and gives her his widest, most sweetly evil grin. 

"Then I'm in," she says. "Get your hand out of my skirt."

He draws back to his side of the car, bringing his hand up and rubbing his thumb over his lower lip deliberately. She looks away, watching the highway race by and not bothering to fight the flush on her face or the heat pulsing between her legs. 

Game on.

**

The driver drops them off at the hotel and she goes straight to her room for a nap. When her phone alarm goes off, she finds a text from Gabe waiting for her: _I can still smell you on my fingers._

It's a warm-up volley and not even a very interesting or challenging one; she ignores it and goes to shower. She makes a face when she goes to slip her panties off; they've dried stiff and uncomfortable and she tosses them in the sink with cold water while the shower runs and fills the room with steam. She likes her pre-show showers hot enough to hurt. It makes her feel like she's getting ready for a battle or something.

She washes, dries, lotions, then inspects herself in the mirror, making sure her boobs are still up where they belong and her skin is smooth and perfect everywhere that's going to show. The guys can grow ill-advised beards when they're having a breakout. She has no such luck. But today's a good day. She kisses at her reflection and goes out to the bedroom to get dressed.

Her phone is lit up with another text from Gabe, which turns out to be a picture of him eating a peach, his eyes rolled back in exaggerated ecstasy and the message reading _Room service oh yeah_.

She texts back, _You're not even trying._

Her phone rings while she's laying her dress out on the bed. "I'm just getting started," he says when she picks up.

"I'm not impressed so far."

His voice is low and hot and coaxing, his self-consciously sexy voice, the one he does on purpose. Nobody's better at turning it on and off. "You sure, Victoria? You didn't get even a little bit hot thinking about my tongue in you?"

"Nope. I'm fine."

"I bet you're wet all the way down your thighs."

"I'd say you're psychic, but it's only because I just got out of the shower."

"Did you shave? Get all smooth and clean down there for me? Or are you going natural now, so I can get down on my knees and bury my nose in that hair and smell you?"

She closes her eyes and drags her nails against her hip to keep herself focused. "Goodbye, Gabe. Let go of your dick and get dressed."

"What my dick and I get up to is our business."

"Give the poor thing a rest. I'll see you at lobby call." 

She tosses the phone away and turns back to her bags, digging around until she finds her bra and the black boy-cut panties she'd brought for the show. They have purple lace insets on the front that perfectly match her shoes. Coordination always gives her a happy thrill. 

**

Ryland, Alex, and Nate had a flight delay in Phoenix that meant they didn't have any downtime between checking into the hotel and lobby call. They're extremely fucking cranky about it. Victoria ignores them, sticking to her own imaginary square yard of stage during sound check and letting Gabe poke at them until they tell him to fuck off. It keeps Gabe occupied.

Also, she's more distracted than she expected to be by the feel of her dress sliding against _everything_. Wow. She understands less than ever how the guys can even consider going commando in jeans. How would they think about anything else? Which would assume they ever thought about anything else anyway...

"Victoria!" Alex snaps. "It's your turn."

She blinks at him, startled, then realizes what he means and leans into her mic. "Vocals, Victoria, check check." It's fine. She gives a vague thumbs-up in the direction of the sound booth.

"Are you going to check your keytar, too?" Ryland asks. "Or are we just winging it tonight? Because I'm fine with that."

She makes the mistake of looking at Gabe. He's standing back by Nate's kit with a bottle of water, but when he catches her eye he lowers it and licks his lips, slowly and deliberately. She clamps her thighs together against the sudden heat.

Fuck. That's a point in his column.

She plays a quick scale and fades into the background as much as she can for the rest of soundcheck, staring out at the empty room instead of letting her eyes stray back to Gabe. They disperse after that, Ryland and Alex going to find food while Nate huddles up with his headphones and Gabe makes phone calls. She should have gone with Ryland and Alex, because after about ten minutes of flipping through a magazine, Gabe flops into the chair next to her.

"Hi," he says.

"Hi." She turns another page and raises her eyebrows without looking at him. "Can I help you?"

He leans in and rests his chin on her shoulder, murmuring directly into her ear. "I can smell you."

"I'll see if I can get an endorsement deal with Lady Speedstick."

"No, Victoria." Whatever the proper name was for that _it_ he can turn on and off, he's definitely turning it on now. It shouldn't be possible to make her formal, old-fashioned name sound dirty. "I can smell your cunt."

She closes her eyes for a moment. "There's a reason for that."

"Cause I'm turning you on, right?"

"Something like that."

"C'mon, La Hoya." He leans in closer, nuzzling under her ear. "Say I win."

"Nope." She pulls away and gets to her feet, smoothing her skirt across her thighs. "You have to work for it through the show."

"In front of all the kids?" He grins up at her. "Dirty girl."

"You really thought I would crack before our set?" She shakes her head and smacks him on the shoulder. "You're underestimating. Loser."

He shrugs and swings his legs up onto the couch, stretching out to his full height. "Hey, I got the couch, look at that."

"Loser and also asshole." She lets the door bang behind her as she leaves the dressing room and walks to the bathroom. She needs to check her makeup anyway, make sure her hair looks good, and absolutely not touch herself even though she's all restless and hot and edgy now. Dammit, Gabe.

She fixes her face and looks at herself in the mirror for a long time, not thinking about anything in particular. Just looking. She taps her hands against her thighs, then tugs her skirt up to her waist and studies her panties in the mirror, running her fingers over the lace.

It's not like she's doing any kind of gymnastics routine during the show, after all. There are no high kicks.

She steps out of her panties carefully, working them around the heels of her shoes, and tosses them into the trash. Gabe's reaction will be worth the cost of a new pair. It's always fun to watch him stutter when somebody pushes back.

**

For all of his flaws and foibles, Gabe is a professional about showing up on time and doing his set. For a while there even that definition got shaky, but now he's back to being dedicated and consistent, and Victoria respects that. She appreciates it, too, especially today, since it means he's 70% focused on giving the kids a good show and only 30% on playing chicken with her. 

Then, of course, they get to "Kiss My Sass" and he can combine the two, which is what happens when you put an idiot in charge of writing the lyrics. "Girl, I'm gonna make you sweat," he sings, and flashes a grin over his shoulder at her. She knows what's coming on the refrain; he _always_ does this, the only question is if it's going to be at the crowd or at her. 

He saunters across the stage and leans in, playing up his height advantage over her, crowding her space. She settles back on her heels and stands her ground, looking up through her lashes at him as he moans out, "Girl, I'm gonna make you wet" and lets his hand slide up over her dress from her thigh to her hip.

There's no time and she knows he can't be totally sure through the fabric, but it's a very tight skirt and she sees the flicker of interest and confusion in his eyes. She steps back and crosses her little square of stage to stand next to Alex, and he moves back to the main mic. She ducks her chin to hide a smile; that's a point in her column.

For the rest of the set, he's watching her. She can feel it, and she catches glimpses of him as she moves through the songs. When he comes over to split the mic on "Good Girls," she turns her back to him and lets him press up behind her, one hand sliding to her hip again while the other goes up her skirt out of the audience's view. His fingers brush up against her, catching at damp skin and coarse hair, and she closes her eyes for just a second. She could've shaved in the shower; she had held her razor and thought about it. But she knows how Gabe likes it, remembers what it felt like to have him moan and bury his face into her, how hot it was to watch him pull back with dazed eyes and sticky lips and her hair clinging to his skin.

He stutters his line, breaking off mid-word and turning his head to clear his throat. Gabe never fucks up a song if he can help it. That's him losing the game. 

**

After the encore Gabe ignores her, drinking an entire bottle of water in the green room while they make small talk with the venue staff and say hi to the local VIPs and a girl who fainted in the crush of the crowd and missed the last half of the set. He's watching her, though; she always knows when he is. It's easy to track it once you get used to it, his eyes like little dots of pressure on her skin.

She breaks away from the chatter first, as usual. "I'm going to change," she says, grabbing her bag with a clean dress, underwear, and more comfortable shoes. "Do not leave without me or I'll kill you." 

Gabe tosses his water bottle in the recycling bin as she walks out the door. She takes her time walking to the bathroom, then tosses the bag on the counter, boosts herself up next to it, and waits, swinging her feet slowly. She counts to two hundred before he comes in the door and shoves the trash can in front of it so they won't be interrupted.

"You're a bad girl, Victoria."

"Are you complaining?"

"No panties on stage. That's a dirty game."

"Playing to win." She scoots up to the edge of the counter and grins at him, letting her knees slide apart. "And I did win, didn't I?"

He steps closer, licking sweat off his upper lip and narrowing his eyes. "I'm tempted to call it cheating."

"Bullshit. Admit it, I won."

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He leans in and drags his lips along her jawline, letting her feel his stubble and breathe in his smell. It's not fair that he smells so good. It's not fair that he's so... Gabe. "You won."

"So I get my prize now." He rolls his eyes and she grins, catching her fingers in the neck of his t-shirt and twisting it up. "Don't you run away from me."

"I'm not running. I'm just wondering if I'm gonna be able to stand up again if I get down on my knees on this fucking tile."

"You should've thought of that earlier, old man." She tugs at his shirt again and then lets go, pushing at his shoulders. "Your problem, not mine."

He pushes her skirt up to her hips and kneels down, moving in close between her thighs, and she settles her hands in his hair, fingers clutching deep in his curls as he licks up her inner thigh. 

She has a hunch that when it comes to her, he plays to lose.


End file.
